


Affirmation

by AllyinthekeyofX



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, MSR, Various post episode., mildish smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-09-10 18:03:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8926849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllyinthekeyofX/pseuds/AllyinthekeyofX
Summary: Series of post episode vignettes that follow the events that lead up to Mulder and Scullys' deepening relationship.





	1. Part One -Orison

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a series. Each one will deal with the Mulder/Scully relationship as they become closer. Part 3 will be in to the realms of more mature/explicit content. Hope you enjoy it. Please review/kudos if you do.

Post episode ORISON

I stare in to the mirror, my reflection vaguely distorted by the lingering condensation on the glass, the usually sharp, well-defined lines of my face turned bleary, non-descript.

The shower has done nothing to ease either my aching body or my aching heart, and even though my skin is suffused with a rosy glow from the heat, I am still cold, shivering like a day old infant ripped from its mother’s comforting embrace.

The woman who stares back at me is not the woman I know. She has changed irrevocably, never to be the same again, sullied, cheapened by a single act of vengeance.

Today, I killed a man in cold blood; took away his life almost on a whim. I watched him squirm, saw the fear in his face as he realized what I was about to do. And I revelled in the power I had over him, rejoiced as I applied pressure to the trigger, the sound of my partner’s voice coming at me from far outside myself as I watched the bullet tear in to Donnie Pfaster’s flesh.

And just for a second it had felt so right so just.

But the feeling was fleeting, quickly replaced by a spreading numbness as Mulder reached me and gently loosened the gun from my grasp.

I couldn’t speak, could barely stand to look him in the eye as it slowly dawned on me that he had seen everything. He had seen his stoic by-the-book partner lose control in a way I had vowed never to do.

And yet he hadn’t flinched; he had simply taken control as he always did, speaking soft words of reassurance as he helped me through the next few hours.

 

I had packed a bag under his ever watchful eye, knowing I had to leave the apartment to allow the forensics team to do their work but at the same time not wanting to go; knowing that when I returned, things would never be the same again.

I wanted to stay, to roll up my sleeves and scrub every inch of that monster from my home, from my soul.

Mulder had wanted to take me back to his place, to allow him to take care of me, to make amends for not being there for me - for allowing Pfaster to get to me once again. He didn’t say as much of course, but his expressive hazel eyes eloquently begged me to please let him do this.

Of course I refused him. 

Directed him instead to drop me at the nearest Motel. He opened his mouth just once to argue, but something in my face caused him to abruptly shut it again as he nodded sadly, knowing that nothing he said would change my mind. And all the while my heart was screaming out to just let him take me away, away to the only place I might find some semblance of peace. Wanting so much to step in to his strong embrace and let him soothe away the tears that prickled at my eyelids like a thousand needles.

Instead, I had simply turned away from him like I always did. Feeling my walls go up as surely as if I had been armed, not with a gun, but with bricks and mortar, filling in the cracks as they appeared.

I had felt my resolve weaken as he had stood beside me watching me trying to make my shaking hands co-operate sufficiently to unlock the door leading in to the tiny cinder block motel room that was to be my home for the next few days.

Finally, he had put one warm hand gently on the nape of my neck, whilst the other had taken the key from me and deftly succeeded where I had failed.

"You shouldn’t be alone right now."

He had spoken the words with such gentleness, a final attempt to break through my walls, and I had so nearly crumbled, wanting nothing more than to cling to him and never let him go, to breath in the scent of him that so often invaded my dreams.

"I’m fine Mulder."

Of course I was. Wasn’t I always? Seven years of sharing everything with this man except my emotions. How many times had I said those words to him? How many times had I lied? 

Just like I had lied then.

He had dropped his hand away, leaving me feeling bereft once more. The connection between us broken, shattered in to a million pieces by the utterance of three little words, just as I had known it would.

And of course he had left.

Just as I had wanted him to.

Because once again, I had pushed him away.

How many more times would he allow me to do that before he stopped caring?

Right now, I don’t have the strength, either physical or emotional to question it. I stand here, shivering, rapidly cooling water beading my skin and wonder instead just what the hell I’m doing.

 

Why am I like this? Why can’t I for once admit that I need him?

The face of the woman I used to know, crumples before me, her eyes filling with unshed tears as she slowly traces a finger along the misty glass of the mirror, lingering on the livid purple bruise just above her cheekbone. Another bruise to add to the multitudes already etched on to her heart.

So many injuries over the years, but the physical challenges are the easy ones, easily healed, easily forgotten.

The real pain comes from inside.

Seeing the first tear finally escape its confines, I angrily swipe at my image with the palm of my hand, obliterating the delicate patterns forged by the steam filling the small room, and turn away from all that I see.

Out of sight out of mind

If only that were true.

The light in the bedroom is muted, curtains tightly drawn against the outside world. A small, inadequate desk light throws out a weak glow that only really brightens the area immediately around it.

But that’s fine.

My head hurts - stress induced, the doctor inside me supplies helpfully - and I am afraid that to turn on more lights will make the pounding inside my skull intensify to a point I will be forced to acknowledge it fully.

For now, it is simply another cross to bear.

I deserve it. Call it penance.

I have no idea what the time is right now. Time stopped for me when I pulled that trigger. But I am tired and to crawl under the covers and go to sleep has an undeniable appeal.

But I fight the urge for a short while. Even turn on the TV, try to lose myself in the trials and tribulations of the characters who live their lives within that little square box, and for a scant few minutes I actually succeed. I stop thinking.

And then the scene before me changes.

Stupid really, the interior of a church fills the screen.

Candles burning.

Candles

Oh God.

I make it to the bathroom just in time before I lose the last remnants of my hastily consumed dinner down the sink, trying to control my breathing as I retch and retch, soon bringing up nothing but acrid tasting bile, and then nothing at all.

But still my hands grip the slick porcelain as my body is wracked with painful spasms, no longer in my control, I feel the tears streaming down my face as I wait for it to subside.

I’d forgotten just how much throwing up really hurts and I feel something below my rib cage tear through the strain.

I haven’t thrown up like this since I was first diagnosed with cancer, but somehow this is worse. Back then, the nausea was something to be tolerated; a direct result of the drugs being pumped in to me to prolong my life.

But this?

This is as a result of something evil.

And the knowledge I have brought it on myself makes it a thousand times more painful.

 

Finally, the spasms are replaced by the sound of gasping as I try to breathe and cry at the same time. My freshly washed hair hangs around my face, the honeysuckle scent mingling with the acrid stench below me and I straighten up abruptly.

The sudden shift makes my now pounding head spin, and my legs cease to be co-operative, buckling suddenly to deposit me in an ungainly heap on the cold tile beneath me.

I don’t try to move. Pressing my uninjured cheek against the floor I revel in the delicious coldness that replaces the heat in my body.

I close my eyes, and mercifully see no images behind them as I am dragged away from conscious thought.

XXXX

"Scully?"

I hear his voice from far away, unsure as to whether I am imagining it.

I’ve imagined him so many times in my dreams, always disappointed when I open my eyes to find myself alone and I refuse to acknowledge that this time is any different.

"Scully wake up. You’re freezing."

Freezing? I’m not cold. A little uncomfortable sure. This damn bed is as hard as stone and about as giving to my tired muscles.

And then I remember, I am not in a bed.

Normal people sleep in beds. I sleep on bathroom floors in low budget motel rooms.

The realization is enough to force my eyes open, blinking them rapidly as I focus on the figure above me. He is silhouetted by the harsh glare of the fluorescent strip light, but shadowed or not, I would recognize that profile anywhere.

He shouldn’t be here.

Go ‘way Mulder. I’m trying to sleep.

"Scully, wake up......I have something to show you."

I try to ignore him and fail miserably as usual. Mulder is impossible to ignore, I learned that early on in our partnership.

The last vestiges of sleep fall away as I shake my head irritably and drag myself up in to a sitting position, a frown furrowing my brow as I realize he isn’t beside me anymore.

Mulder?

"In here Scully. You won’t believe it."

His voice sounds weird, strained, like he is forcing the words out, and suddenly, my senses are on full alert as I command myself to stand. My muscles ache from a combination of fatigue and from forcing them to stay confined in the small space I had chosen for sleep.

I obediently follow his voice in to the bedroom to find him standing in the corner beside the TV that still played happily to itself, oblivious to the fact that no one was there to watch.

What is it Mulder? What do you want? I’m tired and.......

The words die in my throat as he grins at me.

Mulder never grins, at least not like this.

I must be tired, because the expression on his face seems.....

Evil

I almost laugh out loud at the word that popped unbidden in to my mind.

Evil? Mulder doesn’t have an evil bone in his body.

But something is wrong. Very wrong...and suddenly my heart stops. I actually feel it cease it’s steady rhythm in my chest and for long seconds I feel like it’s never going to start up again.

Because the man facing me isn’t my partner.

I take a step backwards, colliding hard with the bathroom door I can’t remember closing behind me, frantically feeling along the wood for the handle, Instinctively needing to put something solid between us. My terror intensifies as I realize that my fumbling is in vain. My fingers trail along the surface. A surface hard and cold and bare.

This has to be a nightmare.

He isn’t really here,

I have to wake up.

I squeeze my eyes shut and start to count.

1

2

3

"Open your eyes Dana. Look at me. Look at what you did to me."

4

5

"DANA"

6

Oh God.......I feel him close to me. I can smell him.

I cry out as fingers curl around my arm, bruising the tender flesh beneath and I can’t deny it any longer. Despite what my rational scientists mind is telling me, the pain is real. 

This is real

I open my eyes, my vision blurry from the pain still being inflicted from his steel grip and I find myself looking deep in to his eyes, like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

He holds up his free hand, palm outwards and it glistens wetly in the light of the single lamp I left illuminated.

And then I realize that it is covered in blood. His blood. Blood I spilled.

I shake my head from side to side, denying even now what in my heart I know to be true.

No .I killed you. This isn’t real....

He seems to find this vaguely amusing, and just for a moment, the sound of his laughter assails my senses, replaced almost immediately with the feel of his free hand enveloping my face, his fingers pressing cruelly in to the bruised flesh beneath. Worse though, is the cloying stench of his blood, smeared now on to my own skin. It attacks every part of me, and I feel my stomach somersault, the bile rising once again to burn my throat.

He has come to kill me. To finish what he started, and I am powerless to prevent him.

And then, abruptly, he releases me and steps away.

"I have a gift for you, Girly girl. Something to remember me by when I’m gone."

I stand there stupidly, unsure as to how to react. There is no threat in his voice now, and inexplicably, this only frightens me more.

I flinch as he once more raises his hand, holding my breath as I wait for the inevitable, an inevitable that never comes as I realize he is pointing toward the bed.

A box sits upon it, roughly the size and shape of an old fashioned hat box, tied up with wide velvet ribbon.

And I have never been more sure of anything in my life than I am at this moment. I do not want or need to see the contents of that box.

"Aren’t you going to open it? I went to such trouble on your behalf to get you something you really wanted."

I shake my head numbly. I am crying now. I’m not sure when I started. I don’t think I really care anymore.

He shrugs nonchalantly and heads past me, making for the bed.

I know what he is going to do, and once more I clamp my eyes shut.

I hear a rustling sound. Tissue paper I think, maybe plastic. I can’t be sure.

"Surprise!"

He is close to me again, the knowledge of this is enough for me to almost give in to reflex and open my eyes again.

Dontlookdontlookdontlookdontlookdontlookdontlookdontlookdontlookdontlook

The reflex is stronger than the mantra I am chanting, though and against my will my eyes snap open.

Like a manifestation of my worst nightmare, my partner’s once beautiful hazel eyes stare back at me, fixed in a startled look of horror, rolled back up in to his head.

His thick, dark hair has been cut jaggedly in places, reminding me suddenly of that ridiculous buzz cut he adopted after our incarceration in Antarctica.

*Joining the army, Mulder?*

**Why? Does the thought of me in fatigues turn you on Scully?**

And then I start to scream.

XXXX

I am still screaming when someone grips my shoulders.

No Please, no more, I can’t take anymore

"Scully...sssssshhhhhhhhh it’s ok."

and still I scream, the sound terrifying in its sheer volume. I can’t stop. It’s like something inside of me has snapped, finally succumbed to the pressure that has been building for so long.

The hands are pulling me in to sitting position, clawing at the thin material of my oversize T-shirt in an effort to manipulate my body. Still gripped by the nightmare I resist with all the strength and determination my lithe 5’ 3" body allows me, lashing out blindly, feeling one of my fingernails connect with soft, pliable skin.

"Jesus Scully.......wake up."

Mulder?

"SCULLY STOP!"

The naked fear in his voice is enough to make me do just that, and slowly, painfully slowly, I become aware of where I am. The scream dies in my throat, only to be replaced with a drawn out cry, so anguished in its delivery that for a second I have no idea of its origin.

And suddenly, out of the darkness, he is there, in front of me, on his knees, arms straight out before him, gripping my shoulders.

I wonder suddenly if he is really there at all, whether he will suddenly dissolve before me in to the form of Donnie Pfaster, whether this is just another cruel trick of my tortured mind.

Then I allow myself to really look at him and I know for sure that this is real.

"Muh.........muh........muh"

My lips refuse to co-operate, but as always he understands my need and for once I allow him to gather me to him, clinging on to him as though for life itself. I feel his hands on my back, in my hair, hear his whispered words of assurance as I finally let go and weep on his strong shoulder.

And all the while he rocks me gently, giving me what I need.

I have no idea how long we remain there. My only conscious thought is that he is with me. I don’t question the hows or the whys. They will come later.

I cry like I’ve never cried before, purging my battered body of its inner demons, until all that is left are dry, wracking sobs that make my chest ache.

And still he holds me.

Seemingly unwilling to let me go for a second, until finally his soft voice reaches me once more.

"C’mon Scully. Let’s get you out of here. You’re ice cold."

His words trigger a wave of trembling in me as I become conscious for the first time of just how cold the floor beneath me really is.

"Can you stand?"

I nod shakily against his shoulder, but my confidence is misplaced. Mulder helps me to my feet, relaxing his grip slightly as we both reach a standing position, and without him to prop me up, my knees once more begin to buckle. Before I can fall though he wraps one arm around my waist and another under my knees, hoisting me easily in to his arms as though I weigh no more than a feather.  
Suddenly conscious that I am clad in nothing more substantial than thin cotton I squirm in his arms, embarrassment flooding my features with hot colour.

Blushing. The curse of the red head.

Stupid really. Mulder has seen me buck naked before now. I know that, but this is different somehow. More intimate

"Mulder....there’s no need....I’m Fi........"

"Don’t Scully. Please."

I realize that I have said the wrong thing and I feel him tense as he waits for me to argue.

But not this time. This time I won’t push him away, and he nods, satisfied as I drop my head to rest on his shoulder.

I am still shivering despite the warmth I am stealing from him, and it comes as no surprise when he heads for the Queen size bed, still holding me whilst somehow managing to pull back the sheets and blankets covering it.

Instead of depositing me under them though, he sits carefully on the edge of the mattress, sliding his arm out from under my legs so that I end up perched on his knee, my body curled foetal position against him and then I feel his hand on my hair again, his fingers ever so softly teasing out the tangled strands. Hair I never bothered to comb after my shower.

"Want to tell me what’s going on with you Scully?"

He slips the question in casually, without warning, carefully working on my hair at the same time, as though that is taking up his entire attention, and his enquiry in to my precarious state of mind is a mere trifle to pass the time whilst he frees the strands from the tangles that bind them together.

I feel him pause momentarily in his ministrations though, as without warning, another shudder courses through my body. I feel the goose bumps rise up on my exposed skin as I remember the cold grey eyes of Pfaster as he came at me.

Inhuman eyes; windows to a soul that did not belong on this earth. I will never forget those eyes if I live to be a hundred years old.

My throat closes up on me once again, and, not trusting myself to speak, I simply shake my head, praying that he won’t push the issue.

Later Mulder I promise with my mind.

Maybe he hears me, I don’t know, but he falls silent once more.

And I lay my head more firmly against his chest, breathing in the scent of him, a combination of the light cologne he wears and his own unique male muskiness.

The scent of Mulder.

 

For the first time all day, I begin to feel something akin to peace as I listen to the steady beat of his heart directly beneath my ear.

That, coupled with the gentle stroking of his fingers in my hair, along my arm, is lulling me to sleep. My eyelids grow heavy, and I don’t even attempt to fight it as exhaustion washes over me.

I should feel awkward, lying as I am in my partners comforting embrace, and maybe in different circumstances I would.

But I need this. I need him to be here. And I know that in allowing him to heal me, I am in a sense also healing him.

And then, I finally fall in to dreamless sleep.  
XXXX

My first conscious thought on awakening is that Mulders arms are no longer around me. And despite my best intentions I feel bereft, incomplete somehow.

He is still in the room though, of that I am certain.

I feel his presence, feel him watching me; watching over me.

Right on cue, I hear his voice from across the room

"Hey, look who’s awake."

Blinking sleepily, I automatically follow the sound of his voice and my gaze settles on my partner, stretched out on a chair far too small to comfortably accommodate his lanky frame.

I realize immediately why he has chosen it, and not it’s larger, more comfortable counterpart.

From his vantage point, he is able to keep an eye on me while I sleep whilst still following the football game that is playing out on the small screen TV beside him.

The other chair would have given him a clear view of the TV but not much else.

I stare fuzzily at the game, trying to determine the players by their colours before dismissing the notion as being irrelevant.

"You’ve been out for hours. How are you feeling?"

I simply shrug non-comittally in response, because the truth is, at this precise moment in time, I don’t really know.

"What time is it?"

"Late. You should eat something."

I feel my eyebrows raise, almost against my will.

Aahhhhhhhhh Typical Mulder. I know how his mind works at times like this.

Scully sleep, Scully eat, Scully talk.

He doesn’t usually deviate much from his game plan.

Unfortunately for him though, I have a much more pressing need.

Wrinkling my nose like a kindergartener I drop my gaze to the crumpled T-shirt I am still wearing. I can still smell the fear that drenched me earlier, manifested now in unpleasantly dried in sweat.

"I need a shower"

Mulder crosses one leg languidly across the other, hazel eyes twinkling suddenly at me from across the room.

"Need me in there to help at all Scully?"

I almost laugh at this typical Mulder quip, but the truth is, that there is nothing I would like more than to reach out my hand to him and lead him in to the small room with me.

It’s a fantasy I have played out in my mind a thousand times.

But a fantasy is unfortunately all it is.

"I think I can manage just fine by myself thanks." I assure him as I swing my legs over the side of the bed, heading for the bathroom. Mulders voice follows me inside.

"Hey.....if you change your mind............"

 

My third shower of the day is wonderful. After washing and shampooing, I simply lean against the tile, the jets of hot water turned up high drumming against my neck and shoulders as effective as any massage I have ever had and slowly, slowly, I feel the tensions of the day disappearing from me.

This evening in my apartment, the nightmare that found me lying in a crumpled heap on this very floor, all now seem so very long ago.

And while I know I will have to deal with them at some point, for now I can place them at the back of my mind.

Harder to forget though, is the memory of Mulder cradling me in his arms after I collapsed against him, and despite the hot water, I shiver as I remember how it felt to be held so close to him, feeling his hands on me, his warm breath tickling my cheek as he gave whispered assurances that everything was okay. That I was okay.

I close my eyes against the visions inside my head.

To think like this is dangerous.

Forbidden.

And yet, I acknowledge, even if only to myself, that I love him, am in love with him.

I have been for as long as I can remember.

I can’t imagine a time in my life when I haven’t loved him.

He feels the same way. I know that just as I know that the sun will rise to greet another dawn tomorrow. I see it in the way he looks at me, feel it in his touch, hear it in his voice.

But at the same time, we both know that to succumb to that knowledge would only spell disaster for both of us.

Mulder and I have chosen to walk a dangerous path, and while we walk that path holding tightly to one another, we know that ours is a love that can never be.

Our choices were made so long ago, our paths forged by unseen hands, and we are destined to walk those paths for the rest of our lives.

Nothing else matters.

Nothing.

We do not have the luxury of living normal lives.

I realized that early on in our partnership.

Despite this realization though, I feel the tears that rush to my eyes as I once more mourn for all that can never be, and angrily I swipe them away.

These are dangerous thoughts to be having right now. My emotions are still raw. Too close to the surface, and I am afraid that I might betray myself.

 

Clamping down on myself, I turn the faucet to off with a quick savage flick of my wrist and step out of the cubicle, reaching out blindly through the steam as I search for the Motel towel.

And then I freeze as realization hits me.

Shit.

I neglected to bring a change of clothes in to the bathroom with me, and my favourite blue flannel pyjamas are still sat atop the bed where I threw them earlier. To retrieve them I will have to step out of this room, with only a woefully inadequate low budget motel towel covering me as I negotiate my partner to reach them.

I don’t normally display such modesty around a man, who, let’s face it, has dragged me half naked through the frozen wastes of Antarctica.

But that was different. For one thing I was half unconscious throughout the experience.

And then there was the shower incident, kindly provided by Diana Fowley, because the wall separating us offered no protection since my 6’ 2" partner could see right over it.

But he didn’t see anything right?

Yeah right I believe that in my dreams.

The bathroom is not heated, and I am beginning to shiver as the steam around me rapidly disappears, replaced instead with the cool air from the air con unit set high upon the wall.

And my subconscious makes the decision for me as I reach for the door handle.

After all, it’s not like I’m naked or anything.

The minute I step out the door, I realize my fears have been for nothing. Mulder has abandoned his position by the TV and is now stretched out atop the bed.

Asleep

And even though I know it is foolhardy, I allow myself a minute or two to indulge in one of my favourite pastimes.

I love to watch my partner sleep.

In sleep his handsome face relaxes, taking on an almost boyish naivety that I simply don’t get the pleasure of seeing during the course of our normal lives together. No conspiracies, no betrayals, no hurt. Just Mulder.

How he should look

In many ways, he has been cheated out of so much, and while he is without a doubt, the most handsome man I have ever seen, every line on his skin has been etched from blood and tears and pain.

It’s a pain he carries round with him every day of his life.

A pain I stopped trying to heal a long time ago.

A few strands of his dark brown hair have fallen over his forehead and I can’t resist gently brushing them away, settling them once more where they belong, my fingertips trailing the length of his face..

I have no idea what possesses me to do what I do next.

Holding my breath, I bend over my slumbering partner, closing my eyes tightly as my lips make just the gentlest contact with his smooth, warm skin. Careful not to wake him I remain there, savouring the moment.

I’ve kissed him like this before of course, but those times have always been in response to a need to comfort, to reassure.

This kiss is a stolen kiss.

A kiss just for me.

Allowing me to say all the things to him I need to.

Sentiments I keep locked away inside myself that I would give anything for him to hear.

I am also aware of the risk I am taking by even doing this, and reluctantly I pull away, opening my eyes and feeling them widen in the horrified realization the Mulder is staring straight back at me.

He’s awake. He’s been awake the whole time.

"Trying to turn me in to a frog Scully?"

I don’t answer him, feeling the burning humiliation flooding my cheeks as one hand instinctively grips the edge of my towel tightly. I feel like I am about to disintegrate before him, the sound of my increased heartbeat reverberating in my ears.

All I can think about is my need to escape, and I take one stumbling step backwards.

In response, Mulder sits up and curls his long fingers around the wrist of my free hand. His grip is loose and if I wanted to I could easily shake him off.

But I don’t. Because he opens his mouth to speak, pleading at me with his eyes.

“Don’t."

The word is whispered, barely intelligible, and something in my heart shatters as I hear the painful yearning in his tone, and I can’t, can’t walk away from him; at least not like this.

Instead, I allow him to pull me back toward him, easing me down until I am seated, barely an inch away from him on the bed. I shiver as he releases his hold on me, sliding his hand up my arm and tracing a finger the length of my collar bone.

The sensation is electric and I feel a line of goose bumps break out to follow in his wake and I know, that I have to stop this now, while I still can.

"Mu......"

He realizes my intention, and the words die on my lips as he presses the errant finger against them, and I am suddenly struck by the realization that I don’t want him to stop, that this is exactly what I need right now.

I finally turn my head, locking my eyes with his and I realize that we can’t lie to each other any longer.

Almost against my will I inch closer to him, dipping my head until I am right there in front of him, and I do what I have wanted to do for so long.

The kiss is innocent, chaste almost, not unlike the night not so long ago when, at the stroke of midnight, Mulder allowed his barriers to come down.

My hands snake up to cup his face, deepening the kiss, moistening his beautiful lower lip with my tongue before gently pulling it in to my mouth, and I am lost in the feeling of him and he groans as I open my mouth, allowing him entry and I feel his tongue slide in to greet mine, breath mingled as we explore what has up until now been forbidden fruit.

He tastes just like I always imagined him to; a delicious combination of citrus and peppermint. I know this taste as though it is a part of me, and I can’t get enough of him.

I run my tongue along the hard ridges of his teeth, the velvet softness of his cheeks and tremble as he slowly draws his lips from mine and gently nibbles a path down my neck.

My hands are in his hair, teasing, burrowing, holding on to him as though he might, at any moment, disappear as he has done so many times in my dreams.

The reality of it though hits me like a bullet as his hands go around my back, loosening the excuse for a towel I still wear, so it falls forward, leaving my back exposed.

He seems content to languidly explore every inch of me, but I need more, so much more than he is giving me right now.

Closing my eyes, I reach around and grasp his wrist, sliding his hand along my ribcage, settling it atop my aching breast and his eyes widen as the towel slips even further, exposing me.

"Oh God Scully......."

And he suddenly backs away, pulling my hand with him and bringing it to his lips where he kisses it gently, settling his hazel eyes on me which at that moment are a confusion of arousal, sorrow and concern.

“We can’t do this. Not now. Not like this.....”

His voice is barely audible, but the softness, the respect in his tone is lost on me as each word slams in to me just as though he has raised his palm and delivered each one with a stinging slap to my face. 

Because he doesn’t want me; because whatever drove him to instigate this has somehow passed and I am suddenly mortified that I even allowed it to get this far, that I allowed him to go so far; I killed a man tonight. Took away his life in cold blood and instead of getting down on my bended fucking knees and asking forgiveness, I am allowing my partner, my best friend, to put his hands all over me and even worse, I am allowing myself to enjoy it.

 

No wonder Mulder can’t bring himself to keep touching me; I am unworthy of him, perhaps unworthy of anyone and right now I am shaking with a combination of shame, regret and a burning humiliation that causes me to stumble backwards even as I snatch my hands from him and clutch the towel against myself. 

“Scully....”

“I think you need to leave Mulder.”

I can’t look at him now and I turn before he can witness the tears that begin streaming down my face, snatching up my earlier forgotten pyjamas as I escape to the bathroom, slamming the door behind me before I collapse to the floor for the second time that evening, wishing that I could just sink through it and never have to face him again. Because I know him and I know he won’t leave me like this; that he will wait all night if necessary for me to exit this room, to affirm that I am okay, that we are okay and while a part of me wishes he wouldn’t, the part of me that is terrified to be alone right now is praying that I am right, that he will stay. I can’t say for sure how long I remain there in a crumpled, sobbing mess, but slowly I am faced with the realisation that the floor is no less unforgiving than it was earlier and I feel myself begin to shiver against the harsh cold of the tile. It’s enough to bring me slowly to my feet, gritting my teeth against the sudden wave of dizziness that thankfully passes fairly quickly, allowing me to dress myself in the soft flannel warmth of the pyjamas. And then I clean my teeth, fighting back the tears once more as I replace the taste of Mulder with the far more benign taste of spearmint. It’s enough to almost make me unravel once again, but I slam a lid down on my emotions, refusing to let him see me break down once more.

I am unsurprised to see him still there when I finally open the door. In fact he hasn’t moved an inch other than the fact his head is now bowed, eyes on the floor, defeat and uncertainty radiating off him.

“I’m okay.” I manage, my voice sounding weak and brittle and far away somehow. “I’m sorry Mulder...I shouldn’t ha....”

But I don’t get a chance to finish before he is on his feet, reaching me in just a few short strides before he pulls me roughly against his chest, encircling me with his strong arms, holding me there, denying me an escape.

“Don’t say it. Don’t you dare apologise Scully.”

His words are sharp, harsh almost, but the way he drops his lips to the crown of my head belies his tone. And then, slowly he slides the palms of his hands up my back, across my shoulders and tracks them upwards until he is cradling my face, forcing me to finally meet his eyes.

“Because I’m not sorry” he continues, his eyes intense, dark green and gold as he holds my gaze in his. “But we can’t make this about what happened today in your apartment. We can’t make this about him.”

And deep down I know he is right. That absolution can never come at the expense of what we share, of what we can be, that if tonight, we had answered the need that has burned inside us both for so long, the memory would forever be tainted by the evil that had sought to destroy me; a man intent on capturing me, of raping me, of killing me and then carrying out his last sick, twisted defilement of me before leaving me for my partner to find.

The realisation brings a wave of fresh trembling that even with Mulder right beside me I just can’t seem to still and I bury my face in his chest, wrapping my arms around his waist even as he pulls me tighter against him, letting me ride it out, holding on to me just as he always does.

“Please don’t leave....please stay with me....”

I am appalled at how fragile I feel, ashamed of my vulnerability, wanting to be strong but not knowing how and I am terrified that he will refuse, that he will simply drop another kiss on my forehead and then he will be gone, leaving me to face this alone, penance for all the times I have pushed him away.

I’m fine Mulder.

But of course he does none of those things. He just holds me even tighter, his muffled voice slicing a path right through my desperate fear.

“I’m not going anywhere. It’s okay.”

And even though it isn’t, right at that moment I know that okay will come......eventually.

End of part one


	2. Per Manum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post episode 'Per Manum'

I am conscious of Mulder hovering in the doorway of the kitchen, watching me, always watching me; waiting I think maybe for me to break down again. But my crying is done, at least for the moment.

In fact I have barely cried at all, briefly as he held me in his arms and implored me to not give up, to believe that miracles can happen, I allowed myself to cling to him and let the scalding tears mingle with his before I had gently taken a step back, to turn away from him before I came completely undone.

Because I no longer believe in miracles; what little hope I allowed myself to have has disappeared, swirled in to nothingness to leave me hollow, empty and far less of a woman than I ever expected to be.

Because I have failed.

I allowed myself to believe in a miracle that I should have known could never be and what is almost more heartbreaking in a way is that I let Mulder believe it too; saw the hope flare in his eyes when I offered him the chance to be more a part of my life that I think either of us had ever thought could be possible.

A chance at happiness; to achieve for ourselves all that others take for granted, to regain something we both thought had been stolen forever. A way to reconcile the last few terrible years where nothing has been constant and much has been taken.

For us both to finally catch a break.

But I should have known better; because for us, happiness has always been elusive and the smallest victory has come at a high price.

And yet even so, I wanted so badly to believe it could be so, lay awake night after night, willing my body to not betray me as it has itself been betrayed. Maybe that’s my penance – my punishment for everything sacrificed to a quest that ceased to be Mulders alone a long time ago.

I have fought and justified and even killed for this truth we both seek, reconciling again and again the most heinous acts of retribution in attempt to somehow reclaim all that has been taken from us both.

Seven long years of pain and hurt and blood and tears.

To now be left with nothing.

Almost nothing.

Because there is Mulder. Always there is Mulder.

And I wish sometimes I could find a way to hate him, to release myself from the invisible ties that bind us so closely together but I know deep down that it’s too late for that now. Because somehow along the way we became so allied to each other that I find it hard now to ever imagine my life without him by my side.

Maybe that’s why I asked him to Father this miracle child who will now never be; to give him the opportunity to refuse – to walk away from me and finally allow me to hate him just as I hate myself and what I’ve become. But of course he didn’t walk away, just as I knew he wouldn’t. Because there is a love that exists between us that is unexplainable; a love that has endured and strengthened through the harshest cold and most scalding heat, a love that that is both exhilarating and terrifying at the same time and a love that, if I’m certain of nothing else, I know will last for all eternity.

I had expected him to leave after I had delivered the news that the IVF had failed; that we had failed. Had wanted him to leave just so I could find a way to come to terms with this final travesty, this final cruel assault on my future, because truly I have no idea anymore who I am, least of all who I may one day become. And it was only when he didn’t leave that I realised just how much I wanted him to stay because there is only one thing I’m certain of right now and that is him. Because no matter how many walls I build around myself, how strong I appear outwardly, he is the glue that holds the threads of my fractured life together and without him I am nothing anymore.

He’s worried about me. I can feel the concern radiating from him just as surely as if it were physical form that I could hold in my hands but even more than that I feel his sadness; a sadness born from all the years of heartache; heartache which, while shared between us, he tries to shoulder the responsibility alone and it doesn’t make a difference how many times I try to ease his burden, it remains his own cross to bear and one which he seems all too willing to carry regardless of the terrible toll it continues to wreak upon him.

Maybe we don’t deserve happiness; I think maybe we never have. Two lost souls thrown together just trying to survive and for the first time I wonder just what kind of life we could ever have hoped to give an innocent child; that maybe denying us this chance really is God’s will.

But I had wanted it. I wanted it so badly; more I think than anything I have ever wanted in my life before.

And almost without me realising it, I am grabbing the mug that sits innocuously beside its partner on the worktop and almost by reflex I hurl it against the tiled wall in front of me. The sound of the china shattering against the ceramic is one of the ugliest sounds I think I have ever heard, reverberating around the room like a punctuation mark that sears my soul even as it satisfies some deep primal need to hurt something as I myself am hurting.

The sound acts as a catalyst I think and for a second I am unsure as to where the high pitched keening cry is coming from until I suddenly feel Mulders hands grasping at my shoulders, roughly spinning me around so he can pull me against him, encircling me with his arms as he holds me. But even though I want to, I can’t find the strength to return the gesture so it’s probably a good thing that he is holding on tightly enough for both of us, holding me as I begin to fall; sobbing against his chest with an intensity that steals my breath and renders me incapable of speech.

But I should know by now that words aren’t necessary anymore with this man, that maybe they never really were; because I feel his lips against my crown, warm breath against my hair as he tightens his hold on me, grounding me in a way only he can, his whispered words so soft they are barely audible.

“I know. I know. I wanted it too. It’s okay Scully, it’s okay....I’m here.”

 

XXXXX

 

Much later I am nestled against him, feeling his strong fingers tracing patterns on my skin, random touches that keep us connected even when it feels as though the world is falling beneath our feet and it’s always been that way for us I think. Small connections that make up the whole; that enable us to keep trying. To carry on.

He had held me until my body had stilled, for the anguished hitching sobs to subside just enough for him to cup my face in his hands, his warmth settling against me like a balm as he gently lowered his lips to mine, lingering for just a moment before he tracked small desperate kisses along the curve of my cheekbone, across my forehead and down the other side, finding my mouth again where I opened myself to him, wanting and needing to feel something, anything other than the crushing disappointment that weighed so heavily upon me; tasting salt from the tears he had banished from my skin.

And I hadn’t protested when he enveloped my hand in both of his as he led me to my bed, stopping just once as he felt me stiffen slightly, understanding without me needing to speak just what I was prepared to offer but more crucially, what he was prepared to take.

Because just as he knew what I needed on that night not so very long ago when the spectre of Donnie Pfaster loomed dark and forbidding before us, he somehow knew tonight just how to settle the demons that had returned once again to plague me. Demons of a different form maybe, but no less destructive; no less insidious.

And he had gentled me with his touch, reverently undressing me even as he never allowed our gaze to break, keeping himself connected to me with those beautiful eyes that reflected such respect, such concern and such compassion that I wanted to drown myself in him and never resurface. The feeling of his hands on me, feather light touches that reminded me that we are alive; that we will continue to live even when it feels like there is nothing left to live for except each other. 

The feel of him against me, skin on skin was electric and for a moment I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt that to be together in this way must be torture for him, feeling the evidence of his arousal all too obvious and finally I think I understood why he had pushed me away in that dingy motel room, when he had denied us both that final affirmation of all we mean to each other. Because we deserve so much more than this. He deserves so much more and I think he would wait until the end of time for us to finally come together, not out of desperation, of pain, of hurting and of mourning, but simply because we can’t not.

And I think I loved him tonight more completely than I ever have before; because deep down I know he is right.

So tonight I will sleep in his arms for the first time, inhaling the scent of him; feeling every inch of him as he curls himself around me, his palms resting lightly on the livid bruises that darken my belly, evidence of a child that wasn’t meant to be and as he kisses away the tears I know will surely return, maybe, just maybe I will allow myself to imagine a future where it might just be possible to believe in miracles again.

Because for all the uncertainty, for all the confusion and for all the heartbreak that has clouded this day, I know without question that he will be here with me.

And that has to be enough.

For now at least.

Continued part 3


	3. Sein Und Zeit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missing scene and post episode Scully POV

Three

I can remember, many years ago when I was just a small child, my Father taking my hand and hunkering down on his haunches so as to be eye level with me. His habitually stern countenance was softened by a sorrow that emanated from him that I didn’t really understand at the time. I had run to him crying; the sound of Bill’s mocking laughter ringing in my ears and sending the blood rushing to my face as I stumbled away from him and the group of boys who were willing conspirators in the reason for my humiliation.

I had dared to invade their pre-pubescent world you see, a tree house that really was nothing more than a few wide boards nailed flat to the boughs of the ancient oak that stood proud on the very edge of our property – and our house being the only one on the block with a tree that large, the vote had been cast that it should become the seat of their empire for the summer.

Girls of course, were strictly forbidden and I had been chased off more times than I cared to remember; but back then, with the finely honed - if at times misguided - tenacity of an eight year old girl I had waged a daily battle to be included; to be accepted in their adventurous clique and be given access to that erstwhile ‘tree house’.

The only way up was by means of a thick rope procured from my father – the strong multi-spliced length knotted tightly to a thick branch just a few inches from where the boards began and which fell straight and true to the ground below. I had watched Bill swarm up that rope countless times over the weeks past and it seemed easy enough – hand over hand on the rope, legs braced against the tree as he walked himself up the trunk, swinging his body slightly to the side when he reached the platform so as to angle himself enough to place his feet on the wooden boards below.

And on this particular day I had begged, without much hope I have to admit, to try it just once, a wide smile of gratitude almost splitting my face when, after a whispered conversation with one of his cohorts, Bill actually waved amenably at the rope and told me to go right ahead.

I made it to about halfway up when my small hands began to cramp on the rope, fingers momentarily losing their grip as I slid back down a few inches. It was enough to destabilise me and I suddenly found myself hanging in mid air, legs kicking helplessly as I tried to re-brace myself against the tree. And the more I tried, the more the rope swayed and the more futile it became. Without the trunk to carry some of my weight my arms rapidly tired as I desperately tried to hold on. The fall to the ground was probably around ten feet or so, but to me it may as well have been miles. I wanted to let go even so, the sound of laughter below me sending tears rushing to my eyes as I willed myself to just let go, to fall gracefully to land on my feet and prove to the assembled boys below that I was so much more than they thought me to be. But I just couldn’t. Frozen with fear, the rope beginning to burn the delicate skin of my palm I instead began screaming for Bill to help me, to please help me get down, squeezed my eyes shut as the rope began to spin; my brother quickly and confidently took a standing jump to grasp the rope just below where my sneakered feet hung limply. He grabbed hold of them, pulling me down to him roughly; the rope leaving burns on my palms even though I tried to keep up with his pace. I felt more confident now though he was there to catch me if I fell and in seconds I was on the ground again, falling squarely on my ass as soon as I felt the dusty grass beneath my feet.

Bill’s face looking down at me in vague disgust as snot and tears smeared my face before that mocking smile appeared that I knew so well.

“You’re such a girl Dana.”

And it had been enough to send me scrambling to my feet, dignity in tatters as I ran from their laughter and straight in to my Father’s arms, gasping out the reasons for my distress as he gently rubbed my back and held me against him.

“I HATE him Daddy I HATE him so much.”

He had knelt down before me then and spoke words that I had barely remembered until tonight when I had, at Mulders request, performed the autopsy on his Mother. But as I was preparing to make the first incision, those words had suddenly invaded my consciousness, the sound of his voice inside my head just as clear as though he were right next to me speaking aloud.

“Hate is too strong to carry around with us Starbuck. It’s equalled only by love and you will learn that both are present for all of our lives and both will prove to be as hard to bear in their own way.”

And I understood. For the first time I think I truly understood.

Because as clinically detached as I tried to be, as I was incising and measuring, weighing and cataloguing, the hatred for this woman burned so deeply inside of me I don’t know how I was able to bear it without raising my scalpel and slashing at her until there was nothing left but bloody tissue to remind me of all she had done to her son – a man who despite everything, still maintained a love for her she hadn’t ever really deserved. Even when I discovered the grim diagnosis so recently bestowed upon her with regards to her health I was unable to muster up even an iota of sympathy for her.

I hid it from Mulder of course; and really, as I watched him later begin to disintegrate in front of me, my hatred for her was replaced with a protective love for him that was so intense it blotted everything else out and became about him; only about him.

I have seen him cry before, there have been times when I have held him limp in my arms as his body shook with evidence of his quiet release, of trusting me enough to let go of whatever was insidiously eating him away inside, of allowing him to purge himself of his demons; and each and every time I have welcomed it; touched beyond measure that he has trusted me enough to lay himself bare in a way he habitually denied himself for so long before we appeared in each other’s lives. And while it has always been difficult for me at times, to not share his pain, to not welcome it to live inside me, has never been an option.

But tonight is different somehow, because as I pulled him against me and forced him to acknowledge that I was here with him, that he didn’t have to hide anything from me, I sensed that really, he wasn’t there with me at all. Locked inside his own desperate misery, his sense of failure and guilt, he quickly disentangled himself from me, unable to meet my eyes as he requested that I should go; that he needed to be alone; effectively smashing to pieces all that we had achieved over the last few months.

I wanted to argue, wanted to refuse to leave; to beg him if necessary to allow me to stay to take care of him. But even as the words were forming on my lips, he shook his head sharply at me, silently asking me to please just do as he asked before turning on his heel, walking away from me without a backward glance, in to the bedroom and then the bathroom, slamming the door behind him in much the same way as he had emotionally just slammed it in my face.

Because I love him I left, blinking back my own tears as I negotiated the rain slick streets that would lead me home.

 

And because I love him, when I was barely halfway there I slammed the car to a halt before executing a one-eighty degree turn and headed straight back to him.

Because I will not walk away from him anymore, knowing that regardless of how he tries to push me away we have come too far now to take the easy option with each other; a realisation that we have to stop hiding from each other when things get bad.

I arrived back at his apartment and when my knock went unanswered, I used the key given to me so many years ago to let myself in. To my surprise the shower was still running and that, combined with the silence that otherwise surrounded me, inexplicably caused the hairs to stand up at the back of my neck and I suddenly was scared, more afraid than I have ever been in my life in fact. Because I shouldn’t have left him regardless of how much he wanted me to, I should have planted myself firmly in this room and refused to move a fucking inch. Even if he had locked himself away from me in every way possible, I should have stayed. And I didn’t – I instead allowed him to send me away to battle this thing alone when really, I should have known that his reserves were so depleted at that point that he had nothing left inside him to battle with.

I’m not sure what I expected to find when I pushed open the door to the bathroom, tentatively stepping inside, subconsciously bracing myself for what I might see.

Because I discovered a very long time ago that Mulder places very little value on his own life; watched him so effortlessly and without hesitation as he sat before Modell in that stark white hospital room, press the cold steel of the revolver against his temple, pulling the trigger before my horrified denial had even been given voice; the blankness behind his eyes that could not be wholly contributed to the hold that had been placed over him and which had haunted me for weeks and months afterwards as I came to understand that in no way, was that the first time he had ever held a gun to his head.

But what I actually found in the bathroom was a very much alive Mulder, huddled naked and shivering in the shower stall as the icy water beat down on him relentlessly and he wept helplessly in to the folded shelf of arms he had crossed over his knees, hugging his body in a defensive posture that reminded me of a wounded animal. His skin was stark white and when I tentatively touched his shoulder with my fingertips after first shutting off the relentless stream of water, I found him to be freezing cold.

It reminded me of another time in another place when I had found him in a similar position but back then he had been trying to warm himself up and this time, there was absolutely no doubt in my mind, that this was simply another way of him punishing himself; for not returning her call, for not being there for her, for failing once more in his protection of those he loved just as he believes he has always failed.

It had taken him a few moments to be aware of my presence but eventually he had raised bloodshot eyes, confusion radiating from him as though he were trying to place me and truthfully, I have never seen him look as lost or as broken as he did at that moment; that every horror we had lived through up until that point simply melted away in to nothingness. Because the Mulder I knew, the Mulder who had fought and struggled and refused to give up the fight that had consumed him his whole life was just……gone; an empty shell of a man who just had nothing left to give anymore.

“You came back”

The words were whispered, barely even audible but I heard them. I think I will always hear him no matter how quiet he is.

And he allowed me to draw him to his feet, not resisting as I gently rubbed him dry, wincing inwardly as his chilled skin broke out in gooseflesh as I towelled away the moisture and the cool air of the room hit him, speaking soft words of assurance to him that he would be okay; that we would get through this together somehow.

I don’t think he believed me - even when I wrapped him in soft blankets and in turn wrapped myself around him, holding him tightly, spooning my body against his in an attempt to infuse him with my warmth as we lay together on the bed, feeling him tense and unmoving in return - I sensed he didn’t believe me.

But slowly, so excruciatingly slowly, as I stroked my fingers through his hair, teasing the damp stands that dried and softened beneath my ministrations, I felt him begin to come back to me, relaxing his body against mine as the trembling finally stilled and his breathing became soft and even once more.

And I was unable to suppress my own tears any longer as he sighed raggedly, repeating the words spoken as though he needed to affirm to himself that I was there.

“You came back”

Because I know that whatever happens in the future, no matter how hard things get for us, how much he tries to push me away or how unworthy he feels, that I will always come back to him.

Always.

Maybe one day, if he allows himself of course, he might realise it too.

Continued chapter four


	4. En Ami

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missing scene and post ep Mulder POV

Four

I can’t remember a time when I’ve felt angrier at her,

In fact, anger doesn’t actually even go halfway to describing how I feel. Try hurt, disappointed, unimportant, insignificant even; incensed to a point where I was afraid to even fucking look at her for fear of what I might say as I braced myself rigidly against the door frame in my apartment, listening to the shock and disbelief in her voice as she tried to persuade herself that the risks she had just taken had been worth it. To her, to me and to the whole of the fucking human race, promises and assurances made to her by a man who has wrought more pain, more destruction and more suffering on both of us than should ever be reasonably possible; a man who has shattered our lives – her life – in ways that are unimaginable.

And yet she trusted him.

She fucking trusted him.

More than she trusted me it would seem.

I had received the call from her, finally received it when she was around an hour away from DC. Not when she got in the car to start the long drive back, not when she had put a reasonable distance between herself and that black lunged double-talking fucker who had duped her so effortlessly, not even when she had stopped to fill the car up with gas when she got halfway home. Instead, for reasons best known to herself, Scully had instead given me another five hours of frantic worry as my panic grew when Frohike reiterated for the hundredth time that they didn’t know how to find her, that she had covered her tracks so adeptly that for all intents and purposes, she had simply just disappeared. Ditching me far more effectively than I think I had ever managed during our long and chequered partnership.

In fact I don’t think I have ever felt a time when raw fear began to overtake me so completely that I literally began to fall apart from within. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t function on any cohesive level as a million different scenarios flew through my mind, refusing to be quietened, refusing to be stilled, as I paced like a caged animal, backwards and forwards, trying to deny the unspoken truth that hammered at me relentlessly; that she was dead, that this time she wasn’t coming back. That the incomprehensible risk, the blind faith and blatant stupidity had sent her right to him, the fact that she had gone willingly the hardest for me to reconcile.

Stupid. So fucking stupid.

And when she finally arrived at my door I couldn’t even bring myself to open it because for the first time since I have known her, I truly didn’t want to see her, afraid of how I would react, disappearing as I was in the destructive force of my own anger. Instead I ignored the sound of her knuckles against the wood, fucked if I would give her the satisfaction of seeing the relief that would surely emanate from every cell of my body just to look at her face, to see that she was indeed whole. She didn’t deserve that level of emotional exposure from me. So instead, after throwing me a bemused glance, Byers did the honours, greeting her in that soft, respectful way of his, that was this time, tinged with just a hint of regret that he was the one to welcome her back, that he knew it wasn’t what she expected.

But what did she expect? I mean really? 

Did she even have an inkling of what she’d done to me? She had started toward me, her eyes searching for mine even as I steadfastly refused to allow her that contact, ignoring her whispered imploration that wrapped itself around me as she spoke my name.

“Mulder”?

Instead I had briefly shook my head, turning away from her and heading into the kitchen; putting a distance between us, trying to calm myself enough so as not to wound her more than she would shortly be wounded.

Because I knew.

Oh yeah, I knew that she had been played. And that right then she didn’t.

And if I’m completely honest with myself, as I watched Langley reveal the truth that I already knew, that the disc she had risked her life for, risked our partnership and risked everything we had begun to discover about each other, was empty, finally speaking as I watched her plead with him to try just one more time, begging him with words unspoken to give her at least some tangible justification for allowing herself to be so truly and completely taken in. That she had behaved like a fucking rookie with no thought to her own personal safety, disregarded everything she knew, had been taught, had experienced at the hands of this power hungry lunatic, to blindly follow him; on a promise from a man who trades in lies.

“Enough”

And it was.

That one word, laced with more venom directed at her by me than I thought was even possible, was enough to stop her in her tracks, to make what little colour she had retained in the face of so much continued antagonism from me, drain from her countenance, as she abruptly closed her mouth and turned her eyes on me once again. Eyes that now glistened with unshed tears and which almost sent me across the room to crush her against me, to allow myself to forgive her for what she had done; for what she had risked.

Almost.

But I didn’t. I simply folded my arms against my chest and leaned against the doorframe, fighting myself to remain where I was, to not allow myself the luxury of telling her that it was okay, that everything was fine.

Because it wasn’t fine.

And it wasn’t okay.

In fact it was possibly the most heinous fucking thing she had ever done, even more so given the events over the preceding months that had finally been given voice and acknowledgment from both of us. The night in that dingy motel room where she had literally come apart in my arms, the aftermath of Pfaster threatening to tip her right over the edge, finally allowing ourselves to admit our own version of the truth to each other; a truth that had writhed and burned within us both for years and which had finally broken through the walls that we had so carefully constructed and kept patched up for so long.

 

The gunmen had certainly sensed the undercurrents; even Langley began busying himself with the equipment they had brought over at my request on learning just exactly what it was that Scully had in her possession – or rather what she thought she had – packing it away, unplugging leads, knowing that it was more than time for the three of them to leave before the storm that crackled ominously in the air finally broke. Because they knew that it was coming, oh yeah they knew.

Langley was the first to leave, almost running out the door in his haste to get away from us and under normal circumstances I might have found if amusing, but at the time nothing seemed very funny. Frohike was pretty quick to follow, but surprisingly, Byers paused, stepping right up to where Scully still remained standing, looking at that damn disc as though sheer will power alone would suddenly bring it to life in front of her, and he briefly laid his hand against her cheek, an awkward gesture of comfort given by this most reticent of men in response to my indifference of the circumstances and one which angered me and twisted something inside me in about equal measure. But I remained silent, non-reactive as he dropped his hand away and spoke the first gentle words she had heard since she walked through my door.

“I’m sorry Dana”

She nodded, before quickly turning away from him, a defensive action I had come to know all too well; a response precipitated by a desperate need to not show weakness when in the company of others. To close down any form of communication, be it verbal or physical that might elicit an emotional response from her.

And I ignored the pointed way he frowned at me as he paused in front of me, eloquently telling me to get a fucking grip before it was too late; to stop being so wrapped up in my own pain that I refused to even try to acknowledge hers. Because I didn’t need him or anyone else telling me how I should be feeling about the fact she had chosen to ignore the last three fucking months as though they meant nothing.

I remained in my position even as she stepped towards me, but now that we were alone I allowed myself to finally look at her, really look at her, watching her recoil as every emotion I had fought to keep control of must have shown themselves to her all at the same time, because I felt them, actually felt them break free from somewhere deep inside me, burgeoning, uncontrollable, destructive, forcing words from my mouth that snapped in the air like gunshots between us. In fact I think pulling my gun out and shooting her might have been easier on her.

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

“Mulder…”

I didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to hear her excuses because there was a part of me that was afraid I would hear the same words coming out of her mouth that she had heard so often from mine, excuses given for all the times I had chosen to ditch her over the years. I’ve lost count of the amount of times she’s come after me to haul my sorry ass out of whatever proverbial creek I’d managed to get myself stranded in, what injuries I had sustained, how I had risked myself. But the difference, the fucking difference, was I had never once done any of it for purely altruistic reasons; unlike her, I had always taken one for the cause; not for myself or for my own selfish reasons.

Or at least that’s what I told myself.

So instead of allowing her to answer, to give her the opportunity for justification, I simply turned away and grabbed at my coat from where it hung over the sofa back where I had thrown it earlier; when she was still missing; when I thought she was dead.

“You met him in offices in DC?”

Scully swallowed and nodded slowly, miserably casting her eyes to the floor, knowing now that it wouldn’t matter what she said, even if she counter-attacked with anger, that what she had done was wrong; and she at least had the sense at that moment to not challenge me on either my anger or my conviction.

“Let’s go.”

XXXX

I guess it was unfortunate that as my anger towards Scully started to fade, unable as I was to keep throwing verbal punches at her as the realisation finally began to hit her that she had been duped so thoroughly, hers began to build. Anger at me, anger at him, anger at herself, but mostly I think anger at this whole ridiculous situation; finding herself as she had, on the receiving end of my own desperate insecurities. Because it hadn’t been lost on me in the weeks since my Mother died that Scully was all I had left; my only safety net between myself and absolute freefall, that if I lost her I lost everything.

It had been a rough couple of months for us both I think – beginning with the whole Pfaster mess and my associated guilt which precipitated a strange period where once again, I was desperately afraid for her as she dipped and spiralled downwards as she fought against the way the whole experience had tainted her, finding then that even though she hadn’t fully healed, suddenly I was the one who needed saving as I fell apart piece by harrowing piece following my Mom’s suicide and the revelations brought to me that finally gave me closure on my sister’s fate. I had told her I had found peace and truly, initially I thought I had; until the guilt started right back up again, my dreams plagued by accusatory visions of those I perceived as having failed, Scully amongst them and I lost count of the amount of nights I woke up sweating and shaking; calling out to her in the darkness, bereft when I realised she wasn’t there with me.

But for the most part, despite ourselves, we had retreated from each other once again, neither one prepared to call the other into question as to what the hell had happened that we couldn’t seem to get past the final barrier that we had built up between us; denying ourselves anything more than the most minimal affirmation of everything we now knew we meant to each other; I have no idea as to our flawed reasoning and I know Scully has been as confused, as defeated as I have. And if I’m honest I know exactly why she chose to go with that chain-smoking bastard; because maybe by doing so she would finally deem herself worthy enough to be loved; finding affirmation that all the pain, all the hurt and all the sacrifice over the years might actually have been worth it.

That she was prepared to die for it; to give the whole fucking struggle some kind of meaning.

The knowledge makes me turn to stone inside; because this is Ed Jerse all over again. Only this time she really meant it; had been so intent on proving herself to be valuable, deserving of finally being able to make a decision that to her at least, actually meant something, that all commonsense just flew out of the window. And the fact I had been so wrapped up in my own misery, I hadn’t seen it coming; had lost sight of her somewhere along the way and the relief at her return had been so huge, so encompassing that I just couldn’t handle it and had instead turned it inwards, spun it on its head to give me justification for denying to myself everything she had come to mean to me, to rage at her when I should have been the one on my knees begging her forgiveness.

And I am terrified that my duplicity has now destroyed everything we fought so hard to build and which I sent tumbling down around us tonight when instead of actually listening to her, I waited until we were back in my apartment and then pushed her against the wall, blinded by a need to finally claim her, to take ownership, to wipe the thought of that cancer ridden bastard touching her out of my mind; grabbing her wrists in one hand while I roughly covered her lips with my own, running my free hand up and down her body, tugging at her clothes as she fought against me with a growing futility that finally stilled her as she began to cry, huge gasping sobs that finally, before I totally lost control, brought me to my senses as I dropped her wrists, stumbling away from her, appalled at such a monumental loss of control that I had only barely managed to keep in check.

And I almost collapsed when I saw the pain on her face as she dumbly turned her wrists over, seeing the fresh welts beginning to bloom against her pale skin caused by my rough, animalistic need of her; this woman who I would die for, who had only ever known or expected careful, reverent handling from me, stared at the fucking bruises that I had given her, inflicted upon her to add to the multitudes she had already received during her allegiance to me.

I didn’t even attempt to prevent her from leaving. Because what the hell could I ever say to make this right?

XXXXX

I can’t really remember getting to the bedroom; have no concept of when I decided to stop pouring the contents of the whiskey bottle down my throat. I keep it for medicinal purposes because really, I can’t stand the fucking taste of it unless it’s joined by copious amounts of lemon and honey, but tonight, since my mouth was tainted by the bitterness that can only be brought from the certain realisation that I had blown it; that finally I had succeeded in pushing away the one person on this earth who actually cared whether I lived or died, that I didn’t even taste it. I just wanted to sink in to oblivion for a few short hours.

I had almost called her, had almost called a cab to take me to her so that I might plead with her, to apologise; to seek an absolution I knew I didn’t deserve. But I didn’t. Because when it came right down to it I was just too ashamed to face her; afraid that she would just confirm my certainty that I had finally lost her for good.

The amount of alcohol I had consumed did numb me to a certain extent although I was painfully conscious that it was merely a temporary state; that tomorrow nothing would have changed. But it enabled me at least to sleep fitfully; to lose myself for a few short hours. But at some point I must have fallen in to a deeper sleep, because I didn’t hear her enter the apartment, didn’t feel the slight dip in the mattress as she slid in beside me, but I awoke to the feel of her arms around me, her body spooned against my back, one leg entwined with mine as I felt the soft hitching of her breath as she shed scalding tears that made me burn with shame; shame that she had found a strength to save us when I hadn’t been able to. Dana Scully, my light in the darkness and a thousand times stronger than I could ever hope to be.

And as I brought my hands to entwine with hers, silently thanking her for trusting me enough to be able to even do this, I knew that right now we weren’t okay. We were a million miles from being okay. But we were together. And maybe, just maybe, we would find a way to stay that way.

Concluded chapter five


	5. All things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All things missing scene - Scully POV  
> Epilogue - Mulder POV

FIVE

I wake up suddenly, instantly guilty that I managed to literally pass out right in the middle of listening to Mulder waxing lyrical on the potentiality of fate, of the different paths we are destined to take throughout our lives; the paths in fact that we ourselves have taken to bring us right here to this point in time in our strange partnership.

Sometimes I have trouble categorising exactly what it is we share, what exactly is the product of our seven year history together that has seen us fight and fall and push ourselves far away from each other so many times; only to somehow always manage to re-connect once more? 

More than once I have tried to rationalise this thing we have, this us that is separate from our working lives but at the same time, the threads of our professional history are still wound tightly around us, refusing to fully separate, to allow us to be the people we both yearn to be. I’m not stupid, I know that a normal life can never be for us, that what others take for granted – a home, a family, simple pleasures that are nothing and everything at the same time – are distressingly unobtainable. 

Because even if Mulder and I had chosen to keep hold of the feelings for each other that we had denied for so long and instead turned to others to help fill in the blanks in our lives that our work on the X-Files had brought upon us, I still believe that those simple life expectations could never be for us. Too much has happened and too much has been lost and I came to realise a very long time ago that I could never risk bringing in anyone from outside this frightening world we inhabit; that enough innocents have been lost to our quest already. The blood on my hands is ever present and I know with a certainty that paralyses me at times, that I will never be able to completely cleanse myself of the guilt I carry around with me for the part I played in the destruction of the relationships and the people I loved. 

But the truth is, despite the carefully controlled image I project to the world - and to a casual observer I probably seem to be pretty happy with my life choices - in reality I’m no different to anyone else in that all I want from life is heart wrenchingly simple; to love, to know love and to be loved. It seems like such a small thing to ask for in amongst all the terrible questions posed everyday by the universe as a whole.

 

Something as simple as being permitted to wake up every day knowing there is someone beside me who feels blessed that I am the first face he sees when he opens his eyes is all I really want. 

And deep down I know that what I yearn for is actually right there for the taking, has been for months, years even. Long years when we refused to acknowledge that, despite all the efforts to the contrary, what we actually couldn’t bring ourselves to admit to each other was that which we were horribly afraid would also tear us apart. Because standing side by side we are invincible, or at least it seems that way, watching each other’s backs, protecting against those faceless adversaries who have tried relentlessly to destroy us and it doesn’t escape me that if we turn our eyes onto each other, blinded to everything but what is occurring in our own little universe, then how the hell do we continue to keep each other safe? 

But if I’ve learned one thing over these last couple of days when Mulder was gone chasing his crop circles, it’s that we can never go back; that once we have chosen our paths, made our choices, we are destined somehow to follow them wherever they may take us; and tonight those paths brought me right here, to his apartment, to his well worn sofa where I fell asleep and where a man resides who loves me enough to have made this journey right along with me, by my side always. 

The realisation is enough to bring me to my feet, heart hammering as I ask myself, not for the first time, what exactly it is we are waiting for? Because I can no longer justify either to myself or him a single good reason for not grasping this chance of happiness for us with both hands; and that it falls to me to take this final step, because I know deep inside of me that Mulder may never have the courage, so intent is he on trying to protect me from the worst in him. But I’ve seen him at his worst, and I can barely comprehend how he doesn’t realise that his worst is still worth fighting for.

So before I can change my mind, I pad softly to the door that leads to his bedroom, pausing on the threshold for a moment to allow my eyes to adjust to the darkness within, unsurprised to see that Mulder is still awake I can almost feel his concern as he pushes himself up to rest on one elbow.

“Scully? What’s wrong?”

And I smile across at him, shaking my head

“I’m fine; I was just hoping there might be room in there for me.”

He doesn’t need asking twice and he merely straightens up and moves to one side, cocking his head like a devoted spaniel as he smiles lazily right back at me, because this is nothing new. We have shared a bed several times during the last few turbulent months, taking strength from the nearness of each other, bringing and giving comfort; but that is all it has been and the smile freezes on his face as he realises that my intention tonight is not simply to seek comfort from him. 

That finally, willingly, I am offering something more.

It takes me just moments to shed my clothes, standing naked before him as I feel him gazing at me, drinking me in with eyes that are suddenly dark and smouldering and alive with desire. 

He’s seen me naked before of course, but never like this. Never have I allowed myself to fully give myself to him, to literally lay myself bare before him; and to my surprise, it feels more natural, more comfortable than I dreamed it ever could be as I allow him to draw me towards him as the strength of his desire radiates from him in waves. 

He is naked beneath the sheet, soft and warm as he embraces me, the essence of him enveloping me as completely as every blanket he has ever loving draped over me as I slept, drawing me toward him so we are both on our sides, my head resting against the downy hair on his chest as he presses his lips to the crown of my head, an affirmation that this is right and this is just as it should be.

“Christ, you are so beautiful Scully.”

His hand travels almost reverently along my side, pausing at each rib, counting them with his tapered fingers, affirming that it really is me, that we are really about to take this last desperate commitment to each other that has been in the making for so long a time. A lifetime it seems sometimes to me, a lifetime of knowing him while not really knowing him at all.

I feel his thumb, suddenly stroking the soft skin beneath my breast before trailing it delicately upwards, circling my nipple lazily, taking his time because there is no rush; we both know that so many different decisions had to be made by both of us, so many choices and pathways to bring us right here, right now. And even as I arch my body toward him, granting explicit permission for him to carry on, he pauses slightly, lifting himself up onto one elbow as he locks his eyes with mine, those eyes that drown me each time I look in them and which are now softly reflecting back the golden light from the streetlamps outside; and I know I have never loved him as much as I love him right at this moment, because even now, he is questioning, ensuring that we are doing the right thing, that he is doing the right thing.

“Are you sure?”

I answer his whispered entreaty, not with words because frankly I’m not sure I can string a coherent sentence together right now without breaking down, but by shuffling my body even closer to him, trailing the arch of my foot along the length of his muscular leg before allowing the softness of my thigh to rest gently against the solid strength of his erection, feeling the heat that radiates from him. And I want nothing more than to put my hands on him right now; I want to feel the satin softness of him that belies the throbbing solidity below, but instead I force myself to keep them draped loosely over his shoulders, tracing circles over his muscular back, revelling in the way he twitches and flinches beneath me as my fingers dance and play against the nerve endings that I have awoken and which are now all clamouring at once to be heard.

And I gasp as I feel his head dip, the warmth of his breath against the sensitive skin of my aureole as he hovers for just a heartbeat, a heartbeat that seems to still inside my chest for an eternity of fevered anticipation born of half forgotten memories of the times I lay alone, surrounded by darkness, imagining the feel of him against my skin, the touch of his lips, where before there had been only the desperate longing; for a time when we could become to each other everything we had sought to deny for so long; until finally he closes his mouth over the tip of my nipple, teasing, swirling, chafing it with his tongue, kneading the soft flesh beneath with a gentle touch that serves to increase the mounting sense of urgency in both of us. 

But he refuses to rush, I think maybe he is trying to make amends for that terrible evening right here in his apartment when I returned from my impotent flight with a man who had tried so hard to destroy everything we held dear; running headlong back to Mulder who had reacted in the only way he could at the time to ensure he didn’t fall completely. And even though he had stopped himself, there is no doubt in my mind that at the time it was all about ownership for him; and it paralyzes me to acknowledge that, had he not stepped away from me, he himself would have destroyed us both. 

But he had stopped; had somehow found his way out of his own desperate fear, even though I know he still feels that night every time he looks at me, I see his eyes flick down to my wrists on occasion as though he expects to see the bruises he caused still stark and ugly against my skin. And even though I’ve tried to tell him that I understand, that I could absolve him his actions, he has never found absolution in any form easy to take.   
Because guilt is his own version of a security blanket I think and equally as hard for him to let go of.

But right now, the feel of him kissing his way along the skin of my stomach, tracking downwards, snaking out his tongue to leave a damp trail in his wake, drives any thoughts of guilt right out of my head, as my muscles tense beneath his soft lips, lips that hold the key to most of my hard fought fantasies about him. 

Fox Mulder, my best friend, my protector, my rescuer, my enabler; and I release a soft hum from the back of my throat as I realise that I will shortly, finally, exquisitely, be able to add lover to my list.

I know exactly where he is heading, feel the pulse begin to beat incessantly between my legs as the anticipation becomes almost more than I can bear. But as much as I want to feel his mouth on me, I want this first time to be about us. 

Not me, not him, but us. 

I need to look at his face, to share the wonder of it all with him. Because I have never felt anything like this, it’s emotion and yearning and pain and joy and sadness all packaged up in this one moment in time and I fear if I can’t look at him, to ground myself, I will simply shatter into a thousand brittle pieces beneath him. 

My hands are in his hair, entwining my fingers into the dark strands, exerting just enough upward pressure to make him cease his movement as he raises his head, brows slightly furrowed in confusion that I am preventing him from gifting me that most treasured of releases, preventing him from using that incredible mouth of his that I have absolutely no doubt could take me to heights that hitherto have remained as mysterious as any phenomena that exists in our own personal universe. But I don’t want it. I want him. 

All of him. 

Nothing else will come close to giving me what I need this first time. And I smile then, to give him reassurance that everything is okay, that we are okay and that this whole situation is okay, before cupping his face in my hands and drawing him towards me, kissing his forehead, tasting the salt of his sweat on my lips before I allow my mouth to slide against his, teasing, nipping, tasting the exquisite familiarity of him, pausing for a moment to breath against him, feeling his heartbeat, merging with my own.

“You Mulder…I want you. Please, just you.”

And a slow, lingering realisation spreads across his face, his head tilting, eyes intense and hungry as the meaning of my words settle against him, knowing somehow that this is what he wants too, that everything else will come later.

I slide my leg from where it still rests against his, adjusting my position on the bed, feeling as he follows suit, turning slightly to fit himself right at my core, even now teasing me with the feel of him as he lightly brushes the head of his swollen cock against my clitoris, sending a jolt of electricity through me that literally sends me arching off the bed and I wonder, not for the first time at the power this man holds over me, over my mind, over my soul and now, it’s becoming abundantly clear, over my body also. 

In every way I belong to him, with every cell that fires within me I am his and if I didn’t see every single one of my emotions mirrored right back at me through those incredible hazel eyes I would probably feel slightly threatened, panicked even. But as it is, all I feel is a completeness so encompassing it takes my breath away, a feeling that intensifies as finally, his expression becomes serious, utterly focused on my face, eyes wide open as finally, he pushes fully against me, a strangled cry escaping from him, as I open myself to him, welcoming him, claiming him finally as my own, the sheer weight of my desire for him stealing away rational thought as I throw my head back, feeling his lips on the exposed skin of my neck, clutching him to me even as he begins to thrust against me, lifting my hips to meet his, skin on skin, as stars explode behind my eyes and planets collide, my whole body trembling beneath his touch as he suddenly pauses, finding my lips with his as he closes his eyes and kisses me so deeply, so gently and so reverently I feel like I’m suddenly at the centre of his universe, right where I’m supposed to be. That all things have led to this moment, this joining of two broken souls who despite everything can become whole again, can still find meaning in a world that has taken so much from us both.

“You okay?”

And I suddenly feel like laughing, suffused with a delight that I truly thought had been lost forever.

Because right at this moment I think I’m probably more okay than I have ever been before.

XXXXXXXXXX

 

EPILOGUE 

 

Even before I open my eyes I know she isn’t here anymore, that I am alone; rumpled sheets wrapped partway around me, my leg half in, half out of the crisp white cotton, tangled up in a bed that even as I hover in that peculiar state between asleep and awake, intoxicates me with the heady scent of her; of us. A delicious mixture of perfume, sweat and sex that evokes such a powerful response within me that I literally feel my heartbeat quicken in my chest as butterflies dance in my stomach at the memory of her. That finally, we threw off our inhibitions, our fears and our lingering insecurities and became one; acknowledging and accepting all that we are to each other. And for a few hours we revelled in our depth of feeling, of our strength and our intimacy as we explored each other with a hunger that I think surprised us both.

The sex was great just as I knew it would be. I mean, it was always going to be great given just how completely we are attuned to each other, not to mention the countless dark nights past where I lay drowning in fantasies of her, beneath me, above me and beside me. 

But it was more than that, so much more than a mere physical joining of two people who love each other – because I do love her, I love her with every fibre of my being and with every breath I take – because what I felt last night transcended any other feeling I have ever experienced. And I think given that at one time or another I’ve experienced just about every extreme of emotion life can throw at me, to find that there were depths that hitherto had lain dormant and unknown within me was pretty incredible in itself. Unchartered territory that she somehow unlocked just by her touch, her reactions and the way her eyes fastened unwaveringly with mine and seemed to look right into my soul. 

And she has changed me. She has changed me in ways I can yet, barely comprehend.

But even so, she isn’t here; the space she inhabited just a few short hours is cold and empty aside from the lingering scent of her and despite all we shared, how we opened up so fully to each other, the fact that I have woken up once more alone leaves me feeling bereft and incomplete. And if I’m honest, I also feel crushing disappointment that she has felt the need to run; to retreat back to her own world. The ordered world of Dana Scully where everything must be precisely categorized and packed neatly into a small square box in her mind, to be analysed carefully at a later date before she can make her decisions and justifications; to rationalise each and every cause and effect before deciding how to proceed. 

And stupidly I guess, because after all I know this woman almost as well as she knows herself, I had still hoped that somehow, for once in her life, she would allow herself to just be; to just accept this as being right and fuck everything else.

But I suppose if she did that she would be fooling herself; pretending to be someone she isn’t and after all, I fell in love with that version of her. To expect her to change now would be to ask her to lie to herself, to deny who she is, and I have no right to expect that level of duplicity from her.

The knowledge though, doesn’t make it any easier to bear and even now as I lie here, the delicious memories of her body against mine as we joined skin to skin, are being pushed to one side by my nagging insecurities that are always hovering just below the surface; ready to gnaw at me, to whisper and torment me with my own twisted version of the truth; that she has already decided that she made a mistake, that we are a mistake. And I truly have no idea how I will react if she pushes me away now, if she retreats behind the fortress she inhabits and one which is impossible to breach without her express permission.

I rub my hand across my eyes, attempting to bring myself to full wakefulness because regardless, today is a working day and we have a job to do; that whatever happens, our professional partnership must remain intact even if everything else crumbles around us and so I swing my legs over the side of the bed, suppressing a groan as my back muscles suddenly scream at me, reminding me of the unfamiliar workout I subjected them to last night and I wonder briefly if Scully is feeling in any better shape than I am. 

My shoulders feel stiff, achy and sore although I guess a hot shower will help loosen up the knots and chase away the lingering reminder that despite the fact I would love to persuade myself otherwise, I’m not getting any younger and five years of enforced celibacy, aside from a regular right handed workout, isn’t exactly an effective prelude to the positions I willingly adopted last night as with heady, rapturous enthusiasm I discovered things I’d only ever dared imagine about that enigmatic partner of mine.

The memory actually evokes such a feeling of euphoria within me that despite, everything, I can’t suppress a sudden grin that helps to release, at least in part, some of the tension I have felt since awakening and finding her gone. 

 

My smile lingers as, after pulling on a pair of discarded sweats, I pad bare footed into the living room with the intention of diverting to the kitchen to find some coffee to pour down my parched throat. Caffeine makes everything better; or so I would have myself believe.

But as I cross the threshold, I see movement out of the corner of my eye, a flash of titian hair and pale skin as she sits up and regards me from her position, fully dressed on the sofa, the same blanket I covered her with last night sliding slowly to the floor as she stands up and regards me from across the room; her hair is mussed, her eyes are tired, dark shadows marring her perfect skin that right now, is devoid of even a scrap of makeup and which allows her freckles to make a rare appearance. And I suddenly realise that those freckles now belong to me and that if I want to I can fall asleep counting them every night for the rest of my life. 

Because she is here; she is still here.

And even though I didn’t think it were possible, my grin gets even wider, threatening to split my face in two as I stand there stupidly, just looking at her.

“Hey.” 

Her voice is soft and she returns my smile with one of her own. Not the full wattage Scully grin that lights up her face and has the ability to knock me flat on my ass, but a new one in her repertoire and one I’ve never seen before. It is sweet and easy and reflects in her eyes; it’s a morning after smile and one that renders me almost giddy with the knowledge that it is for me and me alone.

“I thought you’d left” I admit, slightly surprised when she laughs.

“Mulder I was freezing”

And guiltily I remember how I woke up with the tangled sheets wrapped around me. I guess it will take more practise to share them with anyone after my years of solitary slumber.

“Ah…..um….sorry…you should have woke me up…”

“You’re jet lagged Mulder, you needed sleep.”

Jet lagged.

My face reddens slightly because I’d actually forgotten. Time to come clean I guess.

“I didn’t go Scully.”

“What?”

“I didn’t go to England.”

Her mouth drops open as she shakes her head.

“But you said…”

“I know what I said but…”

I take a few steps toward her and catch her hand in both of mine, lifting it to my lips briefly in a gesture of apology, an unspoken entreaty to please not be mad.

“…..I wanted to chase crop circles with you Scully. And without you it just didn’t seem worth the flight.”

I’m heartened to find that she remains where she is, because I’m honestly not quite sure how she will react to the knowledge I lied to her; a harmless lie sure, but a lie nonetheless.

“But, you were wearing a Stonehenge cap….”

“Driscolls embroidery shop on 5th street Scully. Ten bucks will buy you a design of your choice, lovingly sewn in an array of dazzling colours. I considered getting us his and hers matching H.R.H. underwear but didn’t think you’d go for it.”

And to my astonishment Scully begins to laugh; I mean really laugh and it’s a sound I don’t think I have heard literally for years; it transports me back to a time when we stood together as icy rain poured down on us, freezing us to the bone as we began to see in each other a partnership that against all the odds, might actually be permitted to flourish. So many years ago, so many paths trodden to bring us right here, right back here where we stand together and laugh at nothing in particular, bridging the years in one fell swoop and I know suddenly that all the pain, all the heartache and all the struggle has been worth it. 

Because it feels like we have come full circle, completed a journey we began so long ago; running always running from each other as darkness followed us wherever we went. 

But right now, she is here.

And now there is only light.

End


End file.
